Urdnot Wrex: Foul Mood
by Bakageta Koto
Summary: When Wrex is struck with a foul mood, his crew mate's habits seem to only serve to get under his skin. Can Sheperd find him something to kill that isn't someone working on the Normandy? Short, but possibly more to come.


"_It didn't have to be this way, Jerrod."_

_Wrex twisted the ceremonial dagger deeper into Jerrod's chest, and sliced the dagger to the right, through his father's second and third hearts. Jerrod screamed, his claws biting into Wrex's head-plate. The Krogan Warlord fell to his knees, dragging his claws down his son's face, leaving a trail of orange blood._

Wrex backed away from his father's body, his right eye blinded by his own blood, and his hand's covered with his father's. A bullet to the shoulder pulled him back to reality. He snarled, whirling to face the Krogan who had attacked him. One of Jerrod's supporters. Make that six of Jerrod's supporters.

_He sized up his odds. Six of them. His allies dead. He had a knife. They had guns._

_As much as he disliked it, Wrex retreated. "Lived to fight another day," as they said. So this was"living" not "turning tail and running". Felt a hell of a lot more like the latter than the former._

_He reached the crest of a hill, and turned back. They had stopped firing, stopped chasing._

The side of his face throbbed. He was lucky Jerrod hadn't opened his jugular. 

_The blood on his hands was starting to crust as it dried. His father's blood._

_Urdnot Wrex roared at the Tuchankan sky._

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Years of preventing his own death had made him a light sleeper. He had gotten used to most of the sounds on and produced by the Normandy to sleep through them. Most of them.

"Damn it, Turian!" Wrex snarled, "How many times does the suspension need to be recalibrated before you're satisfied?!"

As if in response the cheerful electronic chime sounded again.

Wrex growled a low note in response, and Garrus flashed him an innocent look. Or, he thought it was innocent, anyway. Who could tell what Turians felt with those inexpressive faces?

His catnap effectively ruined, Wrex straightened up from the crates he had been leaning against. Williams glanced sharply at him when he moved, a frown on her face as she cleaned Shepard's assault rifle for the thousandth time. He didn't know why she bothered. Shepard took excellent care of her weapons.

Damned obsessive idiots, the both of them. He considered either suggesting they both consider the use of medication, or simply helping them by putting a bullet in both of their skulls. But, he decided against both options and strode over to the Normandy's freight elevator instead.

"Lunch." He growled in response to William's ever-suspicious glances. The elevator door hissed closed.

Wrex cracked his knuckles. Damned obsessive idiots compiled with the damned slow elevator. He could die of old age before the thing reached the floor above. He sighed, which, given Krogan lung capacity, was quite an event.

That dream had put him in a very bad mood. It always did. And he habits of his crew mates were easy to blame when he was in a bad mood, easy to pile on top of one another, easy to add to his already-foul outlook.

How long had it been since he'd killed something? Thirty-eight standard hours. Too long.

The elevator finally arrived at it's destination and the doors hissed open. Wrex stalked over to the mess hall, finding the Quarian and the Asari having a peaceable conversation at the table. At least those two usually left him alone.

"Steak," he growled at the computerized dining console, "Rare."

The console took a moment to process his request, and a large, red steak was flopped onto a plate and presented to him, along with a fork and knife. At least it was faster than the elevator.

Wrex took the steak, ignoring the plate, fork, and knife, and sat in one of the chairs at the table, opposite of Liara and Tali. He propped his elbows on the table and set himself at devouring the steak.

Earth cow. It always tasted like herd animal. Wrex personally preferred the meat of predators, and, when he had the luxury of time, predators he had killed himself. There was something extremely satisfying about eating meat you had killed yourself, and if it was a predator, you could get a good fight out of it as you took it down. Thresher Maw meat. A little acidic, but hell, the fight to take one down more than compensated for the taste. He chuckled, popping the round cow's bone into his mouth and grinding it between his teeth.

The Asari was staring. The Quarian probably was too, but Quarians had even less facial expression than Turians, what with those helmets.

Wrex licked cow's blood from his chin, his red eyes meeting Liara's blue ones. She seemed to realize she was staring, because she blushed dark blue and averted her eyes, continuing her conversation in somewhat louder tones.

He straightened in his chair as Commander Shepard, the human female Specter, entered the mess hall from the command deck.

"Shepard! Have you got me something to kill? I need a good fight right about now."

Commander Shepard grinned, her hands on her hips, "Don't you always need a fight? And, as a matter of fact, I've just gotten an assignment you might enjoy. It seems several Geth bases have been set up in the Armstrong Cluster."

Wrex grinned. "I can feel my mood improving already."


End file.
